Mixing it up
by LooneyLovegood26
Summary: A-Z Challenge. We all know the prompts. Here's my best shot to a Max/Alec alphabet madness.
1. Chapter 1

Hi, everyone!

Here I am again, this time trying to prove myself worthy of the very popular A-Z Challenge. Yes, I'm aware the alphabet does not start at 'S'; so, no, I won't be posting them in order. Skrew the system and all that (?) Oh, and also, no, I still don't have a beta, so I'm so very sorry for the ocassional typos.

Excuse me the fluff if there's any (I believe there is), but my muse is apparently diggin' chick-flicks lately. Oh, well...

Disclaimer: I do not own any character, I just borrowed them for a little while. Promise, I'm not making any money with this. I'm harmless and poor.

Pairing: M/A, of course, as this challenge and the fangirl who lives inside me require.

Rating: T-ish, due to some language. Better to be safe than sorry.

Love to be publishing again! Hope y'all enjoy it and I expect to hear from you guys! See ya soon!

* * *

 **Sunday**

* * *

"I told you this would happen."

Biggs' voice filtered through the stale air in the apartment all the way to his ears and he refused to retort. Alec's once second in command pushed himself from the wall he was leaning on as if he didn't have a single care in the world, watching Alec come and go while he futilely searched for a fresh tee. Biggs didn't take his long-time friend behaviour to offense, he knew Alec was coping with the subject as best as he could —which in this case would be denial— and being fair, it was a tricky situation. Still, he wasn't going to let by the chance to say 'I told you so' and 494's well known stubbornness could use a little shake up.

"You're so skrewed," he rambled on, smirking slightly to the hazel sharp stare his words caused. "You might as well admit it."

"Shut it," Alec quipped, acknowledging his friend's presence for the first time, taking a grey shirt up to his nose, finally deciding it should get the job done. He heard Biggs chuckle behind him and he could feel the flares of annoyance spreading through his body.

Today was Monday, and Alec really disliked Mondays, but if there was a day of the week which would earn his complete hatred, it would be Sundays. Sunday was the prelude to a work week, which in his case usually carried a lot of problems and situations to solve. Plus, a day of such description planted in the reality of the forever-grim, rainy Seattle was just too depressing for words.

Yesterday had been Sunday, but not a normal one.

Yesterday had been the worst Sunday ever.

"Who died and made you king?" was Biggs quick retort. For a soldier, the dark haired man sure had a total disregard for authority, no matter he was no longer his subordinate, Alec thought. "Oh, right. I did. My bad."

Biggs' words made him turn and look at him again because the _last_ thing Alec needed right now was his almost brother reminding him of his own death. But it was too late. The images of that fateful night reached his consciousness allowing the pain and the loss invade him once more. He would never forget, he couldn't even though he'd tried. Oh, boy, had he tried... It relentlessly invaded his mind, the sight of Biggs' limp body hanging up side down while the enraged crowd cheered and hollered, the scenary framed by the flaming 'X' in the background; and just like that, he was back at that dark alley, watching helpless and from the shadows how the world crumbled to his feet, how his nightmares became true. He faintly remembered Max's hand over his shoulder, if trying to comfort him or hold him back, he never knew; but in the end, her presence had mattered.

"You were no fun back when you were alive and you sure aren't now," Alec snapped, his nerves up to the limit with this whole experience, not to mention, yesterday events. He was miserable enough without the imaginary ghost of his friend, thank you.

"I've always been loads of fun, you just never knew how to appreciate my humor." Alec had to roll his eyes to his friend's assertion, but Biggs pressed on. "'Sides, that's not why I'm here..." He paused for more effect, but seeing it didn't faze Alec, he continued. "Since now I appear to be the voice of your conscience, I have good news and bad news: the good news is that you actually have a conscience, hence my starring role, and the bad is you didn't listen back then, when my very much alive version of me warned you about this. So the question is 'what you gonna do now'?"

"Just shut it, dude-"

Alec was ready to rant his own invented Biggs away when he sensed the presence in the room and turned to the door, finding Max's big, slightly amused doe eyes staring at him in curiosity.

"You alright?" she doubtfully asked, raising an eyebrow. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was blushing. Feeling particularly nice to him this morning, she decided to pull him from his misery and gave him an out. "C'mon, Mole's waiting for us in HQ."

He just nodded and grabbed his jacket, seeing she was already walking down the hall. He picked up his pace and reached her side, noticing her strange good mood. Don't get him wrong, it was an awesome opportunity to get some rest from the raging bitch she usually was, but then again, she'd blindsided him so many times he knew he should take this ocurrence with a grain of salt.

Especially, after yesterday.

But then she was smiling, though not any smile, instead one he'd only seen a few times. It was a conniving, scheming smile, as if she knew something he didn't and that made her even happier she already was; and though he supposed that should make him even more suspicious of her, it didn't. He could feel his own lips tugging up, leaving no choice for him than to follow her antics.

They reached Command and as soon as they step in, Mole was facing them.

"You think this is funny, don'tcha?"

Alec was forced to do a double take. Whereas a bit of a hot head and usually inclined to reach for his shotgun as a response to stupid questions, Mole'd never been openly hostile towards them. However, Alec realised the scaly man wasn't paying a single bit of attention to him, for the entire focus of his rage was Max. That's when he started to worry because instead of throwing a hissy fit, she remained impassive. Her previous smile was gone, but the mischievous glint of her eyes was still there.

"I want a re-match," Mole blurted, his tone of voice giving to understand he wouldn't take a 'no' for an answer.

Alec frowned. Re-match of what, he couldn't help to ask himself. Suddenly, he had this very disturbing mental picture of Max groping Mole while they sparred on a mat.

He heard Max sigh and somehow knew she was faking her sorrow for Mole. She placed a hand on the enraged transhuman shoulder.

"I really don't think it would be wise, you'd just lose again." She nodded to herself mostly while she patted his shoulder and started to make her way towards her office, leaving behind a very confused Mole as some people snickered in the background. "We'll discuss your new schedule after lunch," she said while throwing a glance to Mole, who was slowly realising she'd just made a fool of him.

Alec's curiosity spiked up and he followed her upstairs, wary of her undiminished good mood, not knowing what to do or what to expect of it. He watched her sit behind her desk and tie her hair into a pony tail. Biggs voice re-appeared in his mind, saying he looked stupid standing there, just staring at her, but he couldn't help it; and then, it occurred to him.

"Okay... The jig is up." She lifted her gaze to meet his and there was a hint of the _real_ Max in her eyes, because he could see she was waiting for him to say something completely moronic. "Sam, why're you here and what did you do with Max?"

She snorted and shook her head in amusement. "I _am_ Max, you idiot," she assured, but seeing his still narrow eyes, she ammended. "Check my barcode if you must, Pretty Boy."

He silently approached her, hearing Biggs' soft laughter in his head and running his thumb over the black lines on the back of her neck —without missing her sharp intake of breath—, he proved his own theory wrong.

"Happy?" she asked sarcastically.

He sat on the edge of her desk. "Not really," he pondered. "What's up with you today?"

Max looked at him, confussion marring her features. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe you can explain why Mole was so keen to give you a tombstone for your next birthday." _And perhaps you can tell me why haven't you murdered me yet after yesterday_. He saved that thought though, because as much as he needed to know, he didn't want to give her any ideas.

She laughed and the rich, lush sound seemed to fill the room, leaving very little space for them. He suddenly didn't know what to make of her, he felt inadequate, as if he couldn't read the girl, the woman in front of him. If anything, after all that had happened and the always opportune appearance of Logan, he'd expected to meet an evasive Max this morning, not her high-on-sugar twin.

She answered, apparently oblivious to his doubts. "He challenged me, thinking he had a sure win, but he was wrong," she smiled, remembering the moment Mole's face fell as she proclaimed herself victor. Alec watched her intently, paying attention to each gesture she made, still unable to connect the dots. "See, it seems people tends to forget just because I don't do guns, I was actually raised a soldier; so he dared me. He said I couldn't beat him in the fire range and I made him swallow his pride. Now, he has to do the night shifts for a month."

He was taken aback by her words. Desbelief welled up inside him and he wasn't capable to hold it. "You fired a gun? In here? What about the cops stationed outside the fence? Didn't occur to you they might storm their way in if they heard it?"

She held a hand up, interrupting his rant and looked at him as if he was way too dense for his own good. "You heard gunshots?" she asked calmly. When he shook his head, she continued. "That's because we didn't use guns... Thanks for the vote of confidence, Alec."

The way she said his name made him regret his words, but what was he supposed to think? The last twenty four hours had taken him to a new level of weirdness and the twilight zone never seemed to end. The irony in their role reversal wasn't lost on him though; today he was the one tearing her a new one for something she hadn't done. He sighed and apologized. Damn... He was spending too much time with her.

"So, if you didn't use guns, then what?" he inquired.

"Bows and arrows," she said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"How the hell did you get those?" He was sure his puzzlement couldn't grow anymore.

"Joshua made them," Max told him in a cassual voice.

"What?!"

"Oh, man... You're particularly slow today, huh..."

Alec stared at her, his ming going numb by the second, trying to asimilate everything she said. Was this some alternate universe or what?

Max shook her head at his silence and dumbfound expression. "Remember Josh asked if you could find some wood for him?" He simply nodded. "It was for that. I don't really know how or why, but he wanted to try his skills as a bow maker. Maybe if you paid him visits more often, you'd know about it."

Right there. There was the Max he knew, the one who'd chastise him everytime he skrewed up. That small hint of normalcy seemed to bring his foggy mind back on track and he sat on the other side of the desk, trying to find something useful to do, something to keep himself busy, instead of attempting to wrap his mind around all the insanity the world was today.

Nothing else was said during a good couple of hours, until the shrill of her phone interrupted the silence in the office and she grimaced before taking the call.

"Hi, Logan," she said, fidgeting with the pen in her hand.

 _Well, that's my cue_. Alec stood up with haste and left the office without looking back. There was no way he'd stay there, listening to another woe-is-me conversation between the cyber journalist and Max. He'd had enough with yesterday.

 _Shit. Yesterday._

They'd done this kind of reunions thousands of times before, sometimes in his place, other times in hers; mostly because HQ wasn't a particularly quiet place to linger and it could get really distracting, especially if there were serious subjects to consider. There was always people coming and going, someone irrevocably ended up knocking the door of her office. It was just one interruption after another. So, when the need to discuss the preliminars of repairs for structural damage came up, he'd said his place, that night at seven. She'd taken dinner for both of them and after a quick meal, they'd started to consider options and courses of action. And the thing is, he wasn't really sure how they'd ended up talking about nonsense after a while, but the case was that at certain point he'd felt hyper aware of her body, how her shoulder was constantly grazing his as she couldn't seem to stop laughing. He'd turned to face her then and his hand found the way up to her neck, his fingers burying in the depths of her hair. Her eyes had detoured from his to look at his lips and the next thing he knew, they were kissing; and not just a simple contact, but desperately, passionately kissing. After what well could be hours —but probably had been mere minutes—, the sound of someone knocking the door tore them apart and, oh, what a surprise, it'd been Logan.

Max'd looked at him and then, at the man who was supposedly her boyfriend, and left the apartment without a word.

"What did you expect?" Biggs started while walking right beside him. Alec knew he was imagining his friend, but that fact didn't make it any easier. "I mean, really dude, she's been cured for six months now, a cure you provided... Did you think a kiss would make the world turn around?"

It certainly had turned his world around, Alec thought. Everytime he thought about it, more obsessed with it he became, and seeing her so cool and collected this morning as if nothing had happened, made the whole ordeal nearly unbearable.

He supposed she'd talked to her boyfriend —he grimaced at the title Logan still carried—, maybe that she even had told him about that insignificant kiss, how it'd been a mistake. He could almost see first, the hurt on Logan's bespectacled face and then, the endless forgiveness he always seemed to have for Max. The idea made him sick. If Max would be his, there was no way he'd share her.

"Of course you wouldn't. We're not wired like that." Biggs provided, proving he really was inside his mind.

"It's more than just instinct," Alec muttered. "I couldn't share someone I love."

He winced to his own stupidity, because admitting it would and will only make things worse. There was no escape now, he knew it.

"Finally, dude... I was beginning to think I'd have to harass you for weeks. Now, you have to tell her."

He stopped his tracks and it didn't matter he was in the middle of the —luckily desert— street. "Are you fucking kiddin' me, Biggs? Tell her?!"

Biggs rolled his eyes. "Yeah, 'cause keepin' your mouth shut is always the best choice," he said, sardonically.

"Damn straight it is!"

Biggs seemed dissapointed with his problem management and shook his head. "All this time outside... You really learnt nothin', huh?"

"Spare me the two bucks psicology lesson, I'm not interested," Alec retorted, his demeanor turning somber.

"Look, asshole. I'm dead. I'm thinking that if someone should be brooding, I got dibs. There was this chick I was gettin' to know before everything went to shit and I really liked her, but hey, I died. Can't do squat 'bout that. But you're alive and so is Max, so do me a favour and grow a pair."

With that, he dissapeared, leaving Alec feeling out of place, confused and as if he'd been bitch slapped by his own mind, which was fairly accurate.

Max was a wreck by the time she knocked on his door that evening. The day had been long, like most Mondays presented themselves. She knew her hair was a mess and probably, there were dark circles under her eyes, since last night she hadn't had her two-hours nap. Her need for a shower was dire, but all of that could wait. She needed to talk to him. Max'd meant to do it sooner, but everytime she'd tried to flee from Command someone hollered her name and she retreated to find out what exactly had gone wrong this time.

He opened the door, looking just as disheveled as she was and he let her pass without a word. She closed the door as he returned to his —she asumed— previous position on the far end of the couch. She sat on his wobbly coffee table, thanking when the old thing held her weight. After five minutes of thick silence and appointed avoidance from him, she retieved the remote from his hands, turned the TV off and kept staring at him. She could play this game all he wanted, she wasn't giving up this time. He finally looked at her and his hazel eyes seemed dull, listless. She frowned to his idle behaviour, because he wasn't like this, never. He was always doing, saying, gesturing, teasing, annoying her to death; and yeah, it worried her seeing her best friend so off from his normal self.

"How's Logan?" he asked in a hoarse voice while lowering his gaze.

She didn't really understand the point of the question, but she answered nonetheless. "He's fine. Better than I expected, considering..."

Alec felt a jolt of jealousy course through him and got up, suddenly needing to put space between their bodies. "I bet," he muttered angrily. "What did _boyfriend extraordinaire_ had to say about last night's events?" He hadn't tried to sound mean, but it came out like that anyway.

Max frowned again, feeling they were having completely different conversations. "I don't-"

His bitter laugh cut her words short and he stared at her again, waiting for something; what, she didn't know. He soon scoffed, more to himself she suspected, and dissapeared into his bedroom.

Max followed him and stood at the door, watching him pace the place non stop. "You know, I just don't get you sometimes," she blurted. He was making her nervous because she didn't understand what could possibly be wrong for him to treat her like this.

"Ditto, sister," he said, raking his hands through his hair. She had guts to come here and play innocent, he had to give her that.

"I'm _not_ your sister," she announced, pointing her index finger to his chest, her unyielding nature reaching the surface.

"Well, you're right about that," and with two strides towards the door, he stood in front of her and proceeded to meld his lips with hers.

Max quickly forgot about the strangeness of their agument and chose to focus in the amazing sensations he was provoking in her. His tongue grazed her lips and she gladly obliged, opening herself to him. Her hands found his hair and she remembered how many times she'd wanted to do that, just run her fingers through the dark blonde locks, finding it actually was better than she'd imagined. She moaned in his mouth as he crushed her body to his. It was, by far, the most intoxicating kiss she'd ever shared with anyone and she revelled on how his touch seemed to electrify every part of her skin.

But then, he pushed himself from her embrace, panting hard, just as she was. He covered his face with his hands for a moment to after look at her seriously.

"I can't do this," he confessed and he seemed pained by it. "I won't, not while you're with him."

If Max thought she'd been confused before, this certainly overweighed her previous statement. Bewildered, she stared at him trying to make sense of what he was saying. An idea came to mind and she spoke. "Who? Logan?" His eyes gave her the answer, because she saw the flicker of hurt pass through them. She then smiled, but before he could misread her reaction, she made herself clear. "Logan and I broke up two weeks ago."

Max thought she'd never seen anything so beautiful as the perplexity in his features became certainties and his hazel irises brightened with an intensity she hadn't witnessed before.

Alec came closer and closer, his smile morphing to a grin which had her breathing harder in seconds.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, burying his nose in the crook of her neck and she gasped, turning her head to the side for him.

"You were sulking about something, you didn't want to say what, and I figured it wasn't polite as a friend to burden you with that on top of your issues." Alec was spraying soft kisses up her neck, marking a tortuous path and she fought to mantain her focus. "'Sides, after last night, I thought you knew. It hasn't been a secret exactly..."

He lifted his head and lock his gaze on hers. "So everyone knew?" She shrugged and nodded after a moment of consideration. Those bastards, he thought. They had kept this information from him on purpose and he somehow suspected Mole was behind it. Payback was on the menu for the transhuman, but first, he had other concerns. "What about last night?"

Max quickly realised he wanted to know why was Logan searching for her on a Sunday night if they weren't together. She placed a hand on his cheek and looked him in the eyes, intending to clarify this once and for all. "I'm not gonna say it was easy for Logan and I to reach the decision, it took us a while, but it's final. We weren't working despite we love each other." He grimaced and she saw his gaze diverting to anywhere but her, so she took her other hand to his face. "I still love him and I'll always care for him, but I'm not _in love_ with him anymore... I'd promised him I'd help with a gig for Asha and I completely forgot 'cause _someone_ has kept me distracted." She smiled again as the words sank in and his eyes softened.

"An interesting someone, I hope," he said with a loopsided grin.

"Oh, you've no idea," she whispered and kissed him again.

And then, it occured to Alec as he was drifting into slumber with Max pressing on his side that Sundays weren't so bad after all.

* * *

 _More soon!_


	2. Chapter 2

Hi, everyone!

Thank you so much for your kind and encouraging words, it means a lot to me :)

A little something I forgot to mention last time: the prompts belong to Nickeldime17, so kudos to her for coming up with them!

Sooo... This is new for me. This is my very first fiction written in first person, so I'm kinda nervous about it. Personally, I like it. You guys tell me how it feels from the other side. This baby is dedicated to Cactus101 because it was you, girl, who gave me the bug for writing in first person.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a notepad, a pen and a very old computer.

Rating: K+

Enjoy it, people! I'm gonna go and try to recuperate my fingerprints after all the keyboard time I put in.

See ya soon!

* * *

 **Imposter**

* * *

Everything was fine until the dreams began.

I am cured and with Logan, finally being able to say I'd gotten all I wanted. Life with him is secure, polished, content. Leaving Seattle had been difficult and I fought with the decision for months until Logan made it for me.

 _It's just too risky to stay here_ , he'd said. And as usual, he'd been right. The sober adult, the eternal voice of correct paths, my soon husband to be. For years, he'd been unsuspectingly whispering in the back of my mind and without any conscious processing, he'd become my moral compass, the man who'd shaped me into the woman I am.

You'd think realising this would, at least, cause some reaction —mild shock, maybe even an angry surprise— and so would I, but he's no longer the only one who gets to speak inside my head and the worry this new voice causes absorbs all my energy and focus.

Logan gets upset when he wakes up and I'm not in bed, next to him; but tonight I can't bring myself to care. The post-nightmare awakeness is unyielding, unforgiving and the feel of the sheets and covers gets smothering. Using my genetically engineered stealth skills, I leave the bedroom while the man I suppose I should love with all my heart mumbles something in his sleep. The breath I didn't realise I was holding escapes my lungs when he settles into slumber again. My bare feet are grateful to the cool tiled floor, the heat of the bed is, at times, too much for my revved up body temperature.

I don't turn any lights on, don't need to. I know if Logan wakes up, he'll start doing just that in the way to find me; and it's almost funny how much that thought bothers me. I don't want to admit it, but it does, like a lot of things concerning this new, white picket fence life of mine.

I look outside through the ridiculously large window and it's pouring. The dim light of the distant houses of the few neighbours make the water drops glisten and I lose myself for a moment in the remembrance of Seattle and hazel eyes.

When the reality of the high-end neighbourhood, the cocktail parties at the Thompson's and the perfectly asphalted streets hits me, my eyes are full of unshed tears. The bitterness runs deep in my throat and I find myself thinking that a whisky will solve it. A small smile contours my lips, because it was he who gave me the taste and appreciation for the amber liquid. Tumbler in hand, I turn around to stare at the living room that well could've been from the cover of any house decor magazine. Clean shapes and corners speak out loud of the minimalist style of the house; the white, pristine couches make a stand in the middle of the room, an island of safety in the midst of the black tile. But the only thing in this absurdly overpriced property I can still relate to are the two canvas hanging on the far wall, over the stairs. Joshua's work. The one in the right has an explosion of colour in the outer rim, as if the rainbow itself had crashed on it, yet the green prevails. The center it's a dark hole, swallowing every light it touches. I can see extremely well what Josh'd meant when he explained it to me. It's laughable, my degree of blindness; because it took me years to realise the canvas on the left, the one representing me, wasn't just a complete opposite from the other, that they actually complemented each other. I fleetingly wish I could speak Joshua's language, for its simple candor it's something so foreign to me it hurts.

I could easily say I was naive, too young to justify my actions; and it wouldn't be a lie, but it wouldn't be the complete truth either. 'I was scared' still seems conceited. 'I was a coward' is more like it.

After a lifetime of losing, I made the safest choice. Predictably and almost text book, I sauntered into the arms of the man who represented refuge and calm, breaking more than one heart in the process. I told myself it was the right thing to do, but seeing I'm not the ruler of my own consciousness, perhaps those were Logan's words. The rain stops, and so should I when it comes to blaming other people for my mistakes.

The sun will come up soon, or the increasingly lighter shades of blue that filter between the clouds towards the East say so. I hear noises upstairs, Logan is up, ready to earn a few more millions for his family company. His uncle's retirement had opened a dangerous door. Would his cousin take care of the bussiness? Logan'd shielded in his father's love and work for the enterprise, saying he couldn't leave such legacy to be lost in a cousin who merely lived to enjoy the excesses his money could buy.

Stop the press! What law enforcement had spent years trying, the fate of a company had done: take Eyes Only out of the picture. At least, I'm not the only one who's kidding myself.

My ears pick up his footsteps leaving the bedroom and I retreat to the kitchen, leaving the empty glass I was still holding on the counter. I know he won't like it. In his words, he doesn't _appreciate_ my drinking. It could've been six months ago, or maybe last week at a socialité reunion, I don't really remember nor I care, but those words were spoken. Inside, I was burning in anger. What gave him the right to flaunt his bravado towards my behaviour? I've never been the easiest person to handle, much less when I'm told what to do. But this... This went further than that, mostly because I could see, deep down, he wasn't concerned about me, about my welfare; it worried him what would his friends say. Maybe, it was that masochistic side of my brain, or the fact we were in a room full of strangers to me, but my tantrum stood relegated in the back of my constricting throat and I simply put my champagne flute down with a fake sweet smile.

It didn't register at the moment, perhaps my eyes and mind were too dazzled with the rather impressive collection of jewlery the women were wearing and my fingers itched to steal and fence later, but the truth was I hadn't been able to comprehend or grasp just how much I was betraying myself with that plain omission. I should've made a scene right then and there, crash that flute against the wooden floor and leave between gasps and shocked stares. But I didn't. There's so much I should've done; should do, but I don't, even now, after the dreams started.

So much the old me would've done, but not the new me, the imposter.

Guess after all, not everything is fine.

Logan enters the kitchen and interrupts my inner rambling as I'm getting the coffee ready. I never go near the stove, it's not my thing, I'd even manage to burn cereal. I can prepare a mean cup of coffee, though. My droug of choice. I'm sure Logan will find a way to let me know how inconvinient my consume of caffeine seems.

"Morning, honey," he mumbles with a smile, taking the cup I offer to him. The word of endearment makes the bile rise, because I truly hate it and he knows it, I've said it enough times before; yet I smile back, even though I'm aware it won't reach my eyes.

As I get my morning fix, he talks about _our_ plans for the weekend, the same _he_ made arranges for while I had nothing to do with them. I don't kid myself, nonetheless. I'll follow his lead, as usual. Because that's what the imposter is _magna cum laude_ at.

I'm not really paying attention, I just nod here and there, maybe a non-commital 'humm'. My mind is far away, lingering in the incomplete images of last night's dream.

They are different every night. Sometimes I catch glimpses of my beloved and rundown Seattle, sometimes the place is completely strange to me, but I suspect it's the desert. In them, I'm always running. As a consequence of being chased my whole life, I'd thought I'd been running from someone. No one is after me, though; and I kept having a bizarre, odd feeling; a certainty which drives me, pulls me to keep running or I'll be done for. I realise that if I don't hurry up, I'll lose it, whatever it is I'm searching, but I know it's profoundly vital.

The sense of hopelessness, the desperation remains inside me like a parasite and never lets go, not even in the waking hours. It feeds back on its own, for every dream is more torturing than the previous one.

And last night I saw hazel eyes.

I suddenly fear the worst, the thought of him in danger paralyzes me as the panic creeps under my skin. I haven't heard from him in months... What if White finally caught him, what if he needs my help.

I remember the last words he spoke to me, right after he pulled me into a dark alley and kissed me with all his might. _Stay with me, please._ I'd made him beg, made him crawl through the dirt as he exposed his soul to me. How close to the edge had I driven him to hear his plea? I remember his ragged breath while he pressed his forehead against mine and his hands held my face. I remember the reverence and the honesty in his eyes when he said he loved me. I remember walking away, silent...

I hadn't dared to look him in the eye, I knew what I'd see and didn't want to witness it, because I was and still am a coward. Finally, the imposter and I have something in common.

I don't know exactly where I find the strength to take the imposter from the leading role, but in a blink of an eye, I'm in control. "Actually, I was thinking to make a trip this weekend." My voice is surprinsingly firm and calm. Logan stares at me and I can tell he's puzzled. "To Seattle," I add and seeing his features decompose only empowers my decision.

I'm pretty sure Logan is making a solid case against my choice, but my mind is set. I practically fly upstairs, he's hot behind my feet, I still don't listen. I reach the corner of the walk-in closet full of dresses and shoes I dont really need and I find what I'm looking for: my old backpack. Inside there're my most faded jeans and leather jacket, the same I didn't had the heart to get rid of.

"You're leaving now?!" he shrieks and I'm possitive his blood pressure has gone up to unhealthy levels.

"Yes."

I pack a few more belongings and some cash that I retrieve from my nightstand drawer. Looking at Logan I realise he's still in shock. Maybe, I do owe him a better explanation after years of cohabiting. I sigh.

"You're gonna be at the office all day, so I might as well take off now and make the most of the day."

There's logic in my words and he can't debate with it although he wants to. He winces as he gives up. "Be careful."

"I will."

He pulls me into a kiss and the contact feels wrong but I don't want to hurt his feelings, so no protest comes out of me.

The SUV awaits for me in the garage, but then I see with the corner of my eye the white sheet covering my baby. A smile instantly lights up my face and it widens as the lush black of my Ninja is revealed. I gun the engine and its purr ignites a deep fire of anticipation. As I take the curve that leads out of the neighbourhood, a sense of freedom invades me and I stare the road in awe, as if it was my first journey.

The Interstate becomes a blur to me, it doesn't matter. I just want to be there and when the last lights of dusk disappear, I'm entering the forsaken city.

I quickly resolve to talk to Cindy first. Stopping at a payphone after discovering my cell was long forgotten somewhere in the house, I wish with all my being she still has the same number. It's late but I punch the digits, I know them by heart. I hear a ring, then another one. A sleepy voice answers the phone with a very unlady-like threat. It's OC, for sure. She recognizes my voice in an instant and chastises me for being a very inconsiderate human being, although not in those exact words. When I blame the cat in me, she laughs and says she's not buying it and that if I'm not at her place in ten minutes, she'll personally hunt me down and put the smack down my ass. God... I love her so much I can't understand how I managed to stay away. Nine minutes later, I find myself knocking her door and then I'm choking in tears as she hugs me. I've never been fond of psichology, but maybe there's some truth to those repression theories. We talk, talk and talk, or mostly I do, for hours. She sometimes smiles in that secretive, knowing way of hers because she has a comprehension of the world and what makes it spin I never had. But first and foremost, she knows me, the _real_ me and that gives me hope, because if she can still see those long forgotten traits of my personality, then not all is lost.

It scares the shit out of me, but I take the plunge and ask about him. Her features immediately darken and she avoids my eyes. Not good, my mind whispers. She says she doesn't know all that much, but the things she does tell me are about a grim, somber man that is nothing alike to the Alec I used to know; and then gives me the last address she has of him.

I drive at a bit reckless speed through the familiar streets, my destination fixed in my mind. I thought I was ready to face him, but then, I look up and the Space Needle stands there, waiting for my visit. My high place, the one that gave me perspective. I'm not sure I'm still able to discern the significance or meaning of that word, but I do know the Needle has always given me the insight I needed. Will I ever be ready to see him? I sigh deeply. I'm scared again, like all those years ago. I'm scared because I'm fully aware it was my fault, because he won't forgive me; and if the scenario where he magically forgets just how much I'd skrewed both of our lives ever gets to come true, I'm pretty sure I don't deserve his forgiveness.

The wind up here is punishing, relentless, threatening; but I stay there until morning because it doesn't cause me as much dread as the sight of his hazel eyes full of hatred would and will. He hates me, it's a given. And if he doesn't, he should.

I can feel my heart rate picking up as I knock his front door. I just want to make sure he's okay. I've told myself that so many times I don't even know if it's true or a mere excuse to keep my mind at ease. I then realise the door is slightly ajar. I push it without a thought, entering the meagre apartment, sinking myself in the darkness since the only dim source of light is the street lamp. The place is considerably smaller than the last one I saw and he has fewer things. I find out there's no TV and that pushes my eyebrows up in surprise; the Alec I used to know wouldn't survive without his boob tube. The paint on the walls is peeling off everywhere, much alike to the rest of the building; however, there're hints of military training in the tidiness of the place. A couple of books are piled up on a desk which has clearly seen better days and I suspect it serves as table too. The single chair tells me he doesn't appreciate people visiting. But aside those small things I notice, everything is nondescript. I'm sure I could try hard, but I wouldn't find a single trace of DNA here. Good to see he's being careful, covering his tracks.

It hits me like a tidal wave, his scent. My senses tingle, ingniting and sparkling in awareness. I can't hear him, for he's not making any noise, I can feel him though, I can sense his distraught right behind me. I turn around to find the barrel of a gun, a fraction of an inch away from my face, defiant and daring me to make a single move.

As I put my hands up I can see the recognition, as well as the disbelief in his eyes; his pupils widen for an instant and I can tell he's confused.

 _Yes, it's me._

I want to say it but my lips remain sealed when his expression hardens to after wear his Manticore mask. I had expected it. I deserve it. It breaks my heart all the same.

He lowers the gun and his gaze while I try real hard to figure out what to say, but I need to start being honest... What can I possibly say to make it right? As I decide to stop deluding myself I turn to face him, but he's not looking at me; he's untieing his combat boots, pointedly avoiding my presence. He can feel my stare, I know it and he soon confirms it when our eyes lock.

I'm twenty two all over again, losing myself in the deep hazel of his beautiful eyes and I remember just fine how those eyes told things his mouth couldn't. They still can, because there's so much whirling in his irises they provoke shivers run down my spine.

He severs the connection and stands up. I remain in my spot, waiting for him to find the words since he's the one who can make them count, while I watch him clench and unclench his fists.

"Why're you here?" he asks in a cold, unattached voice. He sounds serious and exhausted in equal parts. I frown because I didn't expect it. Various scenarios had played out in my head, most of them included him kicking me out of his apartment and the rest were about him making fun of my life, but then I recall OC's words about him. I find myself staring at him, trying to see how exactly is he different, in what ways is he still the same. The physical changes are evident, his scruffy beard, his wider shoulders... He's a full grown man now, and even though there're small hints of that smart Alec who barged into my cell, I understand what Cindy meant. He's distant, wary and I can't exactly blame him after all he's gone through. I take a step towards him and his back instantly tenses, so I stop, I've already hurt him enough. I search inside my brain for an answer, a worthy one for his question.

"I had to see you," is all I can come up with. It sums up all my hopes and desires, it explains the need to quench my fears; and I realise it's still all about me... I remain being the same selfish bitch I've always been. Did I think twice before bursting into his life again? No...

His jaw tightens as he dares to take a glimpse of me with the corner of his eye. He's pissed and all I can think about is how much I'd like to be four years younger, to be in that alley again and stay with him, to say I felt the same way.

He approaches me slowly, measuring my responses while he observes every little change in my stance. I fight to calm myself and even though I'm able to pose a great façade, it had never been good enough to fool him. He can see right through me.

The tension in the room spikes up as he stands only centimeters away from me and stare at my lips with undisguised want. I take a step back and he laughs mockingly while shaking his head.

"Something funny?"

My question comes out harsh, I can't help it. He has always been able to bring up the best and the worst of me; always knowing which buttons to push. He smirks and it enrages me. I can sense the anger flowing through my veins, my heart pumping frantically like it hadn't done in years.

It's the most alive I've felt in a really long time and he hasn't even laid a finger on me.

He gets closer and closer, our noses almost touching. He still smells like leather and danger, scents which drive me near to insanity. "You tell me," he whispers next to my ear, his breath caressing my skin and his voice is clearly loaded with intention. My body reacts to him immediately, my mind follows suit, being suddenly crowded with images, some memories, others, fantasies, and I'm almost sure that I'm blushing. He smirks again and walks past me, evidently more than aware of the effect he can still cause in me, revelling in his achievement as a male.

"Guess not all is love and sunshine back in LA, huh?"

His taunting words come from behind me, carrying an interesting ammount of certainty and bitterness and they make me freeze. Am I that obvious? That sad? His finger runs over the black lines of my barcode and I'm forced to inhale sharply. It's that or a very indiscrete whimper and I'd prefer to hold my dignity for as long as I can.

I move away from his touch and face him once more. His features deplete from all expression and I mimick him. Two can play this game.

"What're you doin' here, Max?"

I'm about to repeat myself but I suppose I'm still playing 'open book' with him, because he fixes me with a look that leaves no room for bullshit.

"I..." Hesitation. Damn it, I hate to be such a coward, but I'm thinking if I should tell him about the dreams or not. Should I tell him he occupies my mind day and night? That since the moment he entered the room my heart hasn't stopped pounding?

I suppose he sees my struggle and why he decides to throw me a bone escapes my grasp. "What're you lookin' for?" he rephrases for my inferior emotional capabilities and it's a hell of a good question.

"I just needed to know you're alright," is the most honest answer, but I expect him to take this the wrong way, because he can't possibly understand the desperation lingering inside my chest after one of those horrid nightmares where I see him die, being I the one to blame.

"Livin' the dream," he says, his face indicating anything but and he points to the door with his arm. "So if that's all-"

My hand goes out to the curve of his neck in a second, interrupting him, because I notice the marks marring his skin. Standing behind him I see the lines of scar tissue run from under his barcode to his back, or at least I imagine so since he has a shirt on. He seems to be healing well but that also means they are fresh, maybe a week old, two if the damage was too extensive. "What happened?" I mutter, my fingers still over his damaged skin and he turns his head to the side, though he avoids my eyes.

"A couple of Cult freaks caught me off guard, that's all."

Like a bucket of ice and water the dread washes over me. The dreams take a whole new level of weirdness in my mind and the 'what if's' are choking me. I need to see, I need to make sure. I take his tee off and the sight makes my throat constrict in anger and pain. Those are whiplash marks. I'm not really sure how I know it, I just do. My hand lays over the irregular edges of the wounds and he hisses.

"Alec..." is all I can get out. I'm vaguely aware of the couple of tears that run down my face, but all I can think of it's that this is my fault.

I should have taken White out when I had the chance, but instead I'd listened to Logan's wisdom asking mercy of me. It was stupid to leave that sadistic bastard go... And now, they'd gotten Alec... Sure, he'd escaped because that's what we're trained for. We're survivors, but what if he'd been seriously injured, what if they would've been too many for him, what if he hadn't made it... The awful possibilities whirl in my mind, mixing with the images of my dreams as the resentment against my own idiocy burns slowly in my stomach.

But then, he's caressing my cheek with his thumb, drying my tears in a tender touch and I lose my train of thought. He becomes my sole focus as my fears fade away and I lean on his touch, realising just how much I missed it, missed him. My arms wrap around him on their own accord; I allow my head to rest on his bare chest, inhaling deeply. His scent encases me, sheltering me from my demons and I feel protected for the first time since I left Seattle. The irony of this doesn't go by unnoticed. Jeez... My life is so far away from the reservation that I can't even begin to count how many times I betrayed myself and others to chase that stupid dream of prince charming; thinking I could appease that yearning for belonging, for safety and love if I chose the harmless option. Only that the innocent affection I saw in Logan hadn't ended up being so trustworthy and dependable as it'd promised to be. Even though I'd gotten what I thought wanted, it hadn't been enough, because I'd known the real deal, and pretending simply lead me to a miserable life. I lost myself in the process and created a persona to fill my spot while I went through the motions. And all for what? To satisfy my need for a different reality.

 _Want_ and _need_ do not always go hand in hand, I realise now, and I can see how pointless it is trying to rationalize when it comes to this.

I look him in the eye and I trust in his awareness of my regrets, because I can't name them all, the list is too long. "I'm sorry," I say with the little strength I have left.

He remains still and his quiescence alarms me; his expression is neutral, collected, and after what seems forever, he nods.

I feel out of place all over sudden, four years too late and I have no choice but to accept the reality, that the moment is gone; that as much repentance I've coined, no apologies will change the fact that I walked away. "I should go." My whisper is grim as my thoughts and again, I don't dare to look him in the eye, but as I'm reaching for the door, he takes care of it.

His strong hands hold my face and he makes me witness how much of a better person than me he is, because there's no resentment in his gaze. He kisses me and it's tender as well as passionate; he conveys everything with it, but it's the hint of bittersweetness which paralyses me. He's saying goodbye and I have no say in this farewell; all I can do is merely oblige and try with all my will not to fall apart right there. Our lips finally tear apart and after a last caress, his hands leave my face.

"Go," he mutters as he nods towards the door. I understand what he means.

 _Go before we meltdown in front of each other. Go before we do or say something we'll regret._

As soon as I close the door I can hear him trashing the place and I'm crying my guts out. So I do what I know best, I run. Run aimless between people and cars until my feet hurt and I sag on the floor of a non-descript alley because my legs won't carry my weight anymore. I cry and my tears meld with the water of the downpour. I'm freezing and alone on the other side of the town. I don't know how long I'm there, but at some point, my strenght gingerly returns and there's no more tears, only rain; so I get up and make my way to OC's.

She doesn't ask questions that night, she draws me a bath instead and I sleep for a while. He doesn't come into my dreams that night or any other after.

It takes me around three months to get my new endeavour up and running. Leaving Seattle again felt like a defeat, except this time I wasn't escaping from everything I didn't want to see. This time I'm moving forward, or I like to think so. Cindy'd been the first to hear my plans that grey morning and she'd agreed it was for the best. The city held too many memories and my dear friend knows very well my tendencies to brood and sulk. She promised she'd visit and I trust she will, she's not like me. LA came after that. Giving my engagement ring back to Logan had been easier than I thought; it'd been liberating, like the weight that kept opressing my chest had been taken from me. He'd gone from shock to anger to resignation in the span of a few hours. _The weekend surely changed your tune_ , he'd said in a moment of rage; but I didn't explain it hadn't been a weekend of milling around our defective relationship —it'd been years perhaps—; because deep down he knew we'd been doomed from day one.

One good thing came out of those years, though. I'm not rich by any means, but I have enough to get by after buying a piece of land and a house thanks to some opportune investments.

So I do it. I find a neat place in Texas. No one knows me and viceversa. But I have a horse which ocassionally still makes me land on my ass, 'cause the animal has it's temper; I have a tabby cat that sleeps most of the day and I have my own orchard to keep my mind off things.

I feel the imposter dissolving as the days pass, but I'm not the old me either. I've changed, I've grown and I like it; I enjoy not being an infatuated and deluded teenager. It used to be all black and white for me, friends or enemies, and I actually prefer the greys now, the 'in-between', I understand them. I suppose the years somehow tamed me a bit, softened the edges.

However, there's an unyielding constant in me. A void, the sensation of being incomplete; no matter how far I go or how many situations I experience, something, _someone_ is missing. And it's him, of course. Nevertheless, I vowed I wouldn't seek him, wouldn't let myself linger in his absence. I've been selfish for a very good part of my existence and despite I need him desperately, it isn't fair to him for me to interrupt his life as if it was mine to manage. He's in my mind all the time, but it's not enough... I hurt him once and that's something I won't allow myself to do ever again.

The dew glistens on the grass as the sunrays seep through the horizon and the birds sing without recess. I'm still in my nightgown as I step out to the porch, glass of water in hand, while pondering about the ridiculously hot temperatures for May.

And then I see him, sitting on the wooden garden swing as if he owned the damn thing.

I stare at the bench and the man occupying it in deep awe, not knowing exactly what to do. I decide to get closer and my mind races with the implications of this visit. The damp grass chills my feet as I walk towards the tree and he turns his head to me. I simply can't believe he's here... How did he find me? How...

Cindy... Of course.

He smiles and it reaches his eyes as he extends his hand towards me. I entwine my fingers with his and he guides me, so I end up straddling him. He hugs me tight and I do the same, a desperate attempt to confirm he's not a result of my deranged imagination. He's really here, but will he stay? Is he just passing through? Can we move forward after everything?

The questions threaten to override my head and just when I feel I'm about to collapse with emotion, he stares at me intensely and all I can do is lose myself in the hazel and gold.

"Alec..."

I have so much to say, to ask, but the words die in my mouth as he runs his thumb over my lips.

"It took us a while, but we're here."

He knows. He understands and so do I.

My lips slowly draw a smile because for the first time in my life I feel bold, courageous, sure of what I want. I want him, the man in front of me.

* * *

 _More soon!_


	3. Chapter 3

Hi, everyone!

Sooo... It's been a while... I don't really know how, but I managed to survive over a month without internet. Guess I'm stronger than I'd thought. Also, I may or may not have been cheating this fandom with another one, too soon to tell if anything good will come out of that project. Anyway, my apologies it took so long. Thanks for the patience and the support, guys!

As for this baby, I feel it's weird, the good kind, but definitely weird. You'll tell me what's the veredict :)

Rating: maybe a mild T, because of certain descriptions.

Disclaimer: yeah, I wish I owned these characters, especially Alec... But then again, who wouldn't. Truth is, they ain't mine.

I'll stop typing nonsense now and let you enjoy the reading. So good to be back! See ya soon!

* * *

 **Anything**

* * *

The place is dark. There's no way to distinguish where the voices are coming from. I felt calm right up to that moment, until the voices began; now, something stirs inside me, it whispers about danger. But the room is a black hole, I can't even see my hand in front of my face.

That's when I remember I could open my eyes, which would be of help. The bright light assaults my retinae, so I shut my eyelids, ready to never open them again. Yet the voices are still there, resonating somewhere near me and my instincts beg me to do _something_.

I concentrate in my body, checking every part of it. Then I feel it, the pain, irradiating from my shoulder to everywhere. Gunshot wound. I can recognize it easily enough, I've been shot several times before. My eyelids open again, gingerly this time and I scan the room for threats. I'm alone, luckily, but that combined with what at first sight seems like a grimy cell with a reinforced steel door also means I'm trapped.

The sound changes, it becomes more clear as the voices mix with footsteps and by now, my eyes are fully open, waiting for the chance. As soon as the door is slightly ajar, the world turns into a blur to me but my mind feels sluggish, three steps behind from my body moves. When I finally stop, a couple of guards are lying on the floor before my feet, and I realize I have to thank my instincts for fishing me out of this one. A wave of nausea hits me, but I ignore it as best as I can, crouching beside the unconscious men. I search for keys for my newly discovered handcuffs and I release myself from them. I also find a gun. My sight loses focus for a moment and I'm forced to lean against the wall while trying to count the bullets in the clip. The left side of my head is throbbing like a humming bird's heart, fast and relentless; which leads me to think I have a rather interesting concussion.

I stand up and carefully take a glance to the hallway. As far as I can see it's deserted so I step out, releasing the safety of the nine millimeter and cocking a bullet into the chamber. I stay in the shadows as I move forward through the poorly lit corridor. By the looks of it, I'm in an abandoned factory, which confirms what I've been thinking: whoever got me here, didn't want to draw for attention and right about now the most likely option is White. The little inbred bastard wouldn't dare to take me to a Government facility and since the Conclave apparently wants his head on a stick, I'm guessing he can't exactly drop my ass in one of those creepy caves and chant while I bleed to death. _Lucky me._

My world shakes again, this time more intensely and not only because of the dizziness and the increasing need to puke my guts out, but also because I remember I didn't come alone.

" _It's a terrible idea."_

 _She stares at me with a mixture of defiance and annoyance. "No one asked for your oppinion," she says and her eyes are blazing, full of spark and life, just like every time I dare to contradict her. I know it's wrong in a lot of levels, but it only makes me want to poke at her even more just to see how far can I get, how far would she let me push._

 _My features turn more serious because despite my laid back attitude, I'm not joking. What she just told me is not a plan, is a recepy for disaster. "Really? Then why tell me at all?"_

 _She's gaping, her brain obviously searching for a smart thing to say but clearly nothing comes to mind, therefore, my grin widens. In the end, she settles with her trademark death glare and strides away from me. I don't kid myself though, I know I didn't win this, not a chance; because if I know Max then I can trust her doing whatever the fuck she wants._

I focus in my breathing, trying to ease the whirl in my stomach and at the same time, I scan the sorroundings mostly, for guards, but ultimately, I'm searching her. The hallway I'm in is long and it connects with several others. The place seems to be quite big and I'm definitely not in the best shape to do recon. However, is not like I have a choice. I have to find her and rather sooner than later, because someone will surely notice I'm not under custody anymore and by that point I'd really like to be far far away from here, in a safe spot and tear Max a new one for this charming field trip.

I realise the floor is slippery as I take a sharp left and it takes me a couple of seconds to regain my equilibrium. I can hear the echo of voices again so I start testing the doors near by until one of them budges. I lean my back against the door and wait for the guards to be far from my position before I allow myself to even breathe. So far, the best guess is that they haven't realised I'm wandering around, which is good, but realistically, it won't be far long before they notice.

I check the room I'm in, thinking at first it's a janitor's closet, but then I focus my eyesight and I can see the place it's much larger. Once I find it, I turn the lights on and, concussion or not, the picture in front of me is enough for me to spill my stomach's contents. There are several stainless steel tables crawling with either surgical or torture instruments, I can't decide which; and in the center there's a gurney with a mangled, female body on it. During my approach, I notice whoever did this didn't even bother to close the incisions after they were done. The face is bruised and swollen, beyond any chance of recognition, but looking closer I see it, like a shadow first, but once I get on the right angle, the barcode on the back of the neck is starkly evident.

33296007345-

There is a large gash preventing me to see the last number and as the panic creeps up and down my spine, I search for something, a distinctive characteristic to tell me, to help me to deny it.

 _It's not a two, it can't be a two._

But her hair is long and straight, in that particular shade of lush black that glistens when faced to sunlight. There's that mole by her chin, or at least I think there is between the purple and the blood.

" _It's gonna work," she says with a confidence I don't share. It feels wrong and I've said it enough times but she didn't listen. That's why I'm here. If she's gonna try something so reckless like this, at least I'll provide some back up._

I should've stopped her. I've should've dragged her out of that place, stat; to hell with her stubbornness.

" _We have to split up." My eyes shoot up to her and she explains. "We'll cover more ground." I know she's right up to some point, but we're in no position to take that risk._

" _Too dangerous and it's not worth it." Luckily, I'm still brave enough to voice my thoughts but she fixes me with a glare._

" _You're kiddin' me, right?" We're whispering, but she might as well be shouting at me, because the hardness of her voice is as unyielding as her selflessness. "There're X8's in there, Alec... Kids! We can't just leave them. You know what he'll do to them."_

 _Damn it... Of course I do, 'cause last time I was stupid enough to get myself caught by White he made me murder my own kind to save my skin, knowing I'd do it from the first second. He didn't bother with physical torture because he knew that wouldn't faze me. Instead, he went for the kind of torture that never fully heals, the kind you keep in your mind forever and nothing short of forgiving yourself can make it go away. I close my eyes and I nod courtly. I still don't like it._

" _Rendezvous point, one hour," she commands and heads off._

My hands cover my face; my guilty hands I should say, because her blood is in mine as much as in White's. I managed to lead her to her death, like she didn't matter when she meant everything. I can feel the rage bubbling up and no matter how many jars and flasks I crash against the floor, it doesn't go away.

I'm in no shape to carry the body and I hate myself even more for it, but still, I won't leave her here for White's mad scientists to do what they please. There are rags and alcohol, so I help myself. I don't dare to look back as I throw my lighter into the room.

Fire is cleansing, I tell myself, but there's no sufficient ammount of it to clear my conscience. As a soldier, I've killed many people; some good, some not so much; and I've somehow found a way to live with it, but this... There's no good deed that could overcome this. Her death will weigh on me forever because I know I could've done more. I have no strength to run, so I walk. I don't even bother with stealth and cover, I don't care anymore.

Fire is cleansing but it also brings disaster. Alarms shrill in the corridors and the apparently cheap manpower pays no attention to me. Civillian, almost for sure, because if they were military there's no way they'd act this crazy over some flames, and they certainly wouldn't allow a prisoner to brush by them.

That's when I notice the kids, running with haste in the search for an exit. There is a moment of doubt, of hesitation, but I can feel her inside me, chastising me for my selfishness and urging me to do the right thing. That's when I realise she'll haunt me for as long as I live.

The chaos is unimaginable, but we are resorceful enough to pull ourselves from it. For a moment I'm reminded of Manticore's facility coming down between flames and explosions.

I never told her, but I saw her that night, while she stared at the building with a mix of achievement and uncertainty, as the fire tore down the only home I've ever known; and it downs on me I'll never get to tell her. It's funny how decietful the concepts of 'tomorrow' and 'later' can be; how full of ourselves we are that we dare to procrastinate, thinking we'll still be here by the time we decide to do or say something. I guess I deserve the unavoidable regret because I trusted myself to be good enough to pull her and myself from hell. No ammount of mixed DNA or enhanced skills will ever uphold my pride and my vanity.

Logan stares at me dumbfounded at first, but when he understands what I'm saying in a robotic voice, his confused eyes turn murderous. He seeks blood and maybe I owe him some. I wish I could tell him it was worth it, that she saved a couple of dozens of kids from torture and experimentation; but if I can't believe that reasoning myself, I certainly can't shelter behind it, expecting for him to understand. That is —was— her way of thinking, not mine.

I could tell him I'd give _anything_ to switch places with her and I'd be the most honest statement of my life; since being dead surely beats the pain installed in my chest, the feeling of drowning. That'd be the words I'd choose to say, if my vocal chords would manage to function, that is. But the weigh of it is too much and I fear that if I speak, I'll crack for good.

So instead, I let him punch me in the face, hard. It's a relief, really; because the physical blow is easier to sustain than the looks of pity the few people in Command are throwing my way. I don't want their pity, I don't even deserve that. I'm the bastard that got their leader killed.

Dizziness claims me again by the time Mole pulls Logan from me. He suggests, or rather grunts, I should get my ass to Med Bay, which I promptly ignore.

By the time I reach my apartment, my concussion is making me see stars of every color of the rainbow and I finally throw up the bile that's been threatening to surge for hours. I sag on the couch, bottle of scotch in hand and I know is not wise, given my current state, but I don't really care; plus, I've had worse ideas before. I just want it gone, all of it. The agony, the longing; but also the memory of her smile or the way a challenge would ignite those deep brown eyes. Therefore, if the blow in my head won't cooperate with unconsciousness, alcohol will.

And it does, it certainly does. I check out, for how long, I don't know. The first glimpse of light is not more than a flash of colours, and then, everything is darkness again. I'm not sure if I'm dreaming about her or plain hallucinating, but from time to time it's like she's there. The second, I can see Kit, one of the field meds, talking to someone about 'hypovolemic shock', but that's the last I can catch. The third time I wake up the room is dark, but I can tell I'm awake because I hear faint voices down the hall. I get confused for a moment, thinking I'm still back at that god forsaken place, but the semi comfortable matress under me confirms I'm not. I go under again.

Now, I'm confident I'm dreaming about her. She looks so happy... Happier than I've ever seen her and there's a glint of relief in her eyes. She takes my hand and I feel bold enough to allow it. She smiles and I have to smile back.

That's when I notice her split lip and the bruises around her jaw. I blink and the previous glow that seemed to light the room is gone but she's still there. I'm starting to think this is becoming a nightmare and I can't handle that right now. A steady beep picks up its pace as my breathing turns rapid and shallow. I try to focus in the peace on her face but she's now opening her eyes widely towards my left, where I see the heart monitor currently attached to my chest. She clings to my hand with force and winces as she stands up. Her other hand cups my cheek with such gentleness it's difficult to process.

"Hey, hey," she hushes, "calm down. You're okay, but if you don't slow your heartbeat, Kit is gonna kick me out and I'm sick of being on that bed."

Her thumb strokes the side of my face and her eyes roam mine as I begin to doubt my imagination could be powerful enough to concoct a dream _this_ vivid. "Max?" I croak, my throat dry and sour from the alcohol, perhaps even injured from screaming to the top of my lungs between mouthfulls of whiskey.

The corners of her lips tug up again and she nods. She comes closer until I can feel her breath on my ear. "You scared the shit outta me. Don't ever do that again," she whispers while her slightly chapped lips graze my growing beard.

When our eyes lock again, I suppose she can see the confussion in mine. I try to sit, but the world refuses to help and starts spinning around while my head throbs painfully.

"Wrong move, Pretty Boy," she says and I can hear deep concern despite the nickname. "You have to lie down, the concussion didn't heal yet."

I do as told just because I'd already reached that conclussion, but I refuse to doze off. "You okay?" I ask in that broken voice that doesn't sound like mine. She nods. "Then who..."

I can't even say it out loud without the dread travelling down my spine. Even if I didn't have eidetic memory, I don't think I could ever forget that sight. It revolted everything in me, it scared me to a depth I'm even ashamed to admit. I'm aware it wasn't the ammount of blood, or the cruelty of the scenary, but the fact I'd thought it was _her_.

"Sam," she sighs and I can see in her features she's seen awful things in there too.

It probably turns me to a despicable human being, but all I can feel right now is relief. I'm relieved it was Sam and not Max. I suppose selfishness is my thing while she's my opposite, my counterpart. I tight my grip around her hand when I see her getting lost in thought and I can't stand the sadness of her face when she gives into grim memories.

We stare at each other and I enjoy losing track of my surroundings, focusing just in her. My hand caresses her lips on its own volition and the gasp that escapes her throat makes me smile.

"C'mere," I mumble without thinking it twice. To my surprise, she doesn't hesitate and careful of not to mess with the IV, climbs onto the bed, curling by my side.

Her warmth is soothing and my eyelids beg to be closed, while our breathings turn even. My mind lingers for a minute in the havoc that we've left behind and the challenges lying ahead, White will come for payback after raining on his parade, it's a given. It doesn't matter though, because there's nothing I wouldn't do for this woman and I'm beginning to believe it's the same for her. I remember thinking for myself during those desperate moments I'd give _anything_ for a second chance. Here it is and I sure as hell won't waste it.

* * *

 _More soon! Stay awesome!_


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